


elegaics.

by sideraclara (angeloscastiel)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: HPFT, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-06-07
Packaged: 2018-07-12 20:54:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7122223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angeloscastiel/pseuds/sideraclara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>at least scorpius malfoy isn't the first to suffer from love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	elegaics.

It was four thirty-three in the afternoon on Valentines Day, and Scorpius Malfoy was hiding.  
  
  
Not _actively_ hiding, per se. Just tucked up in the deepest depths of the reading alcove in Ravenclaw Tower and not bothering to speak up when his friends’ voices drifted through the open doorway, asking “Has anyone seen Scorpius this afternoon?”  
  
  
It was a dreary, cold afternoon, and the glass in the big bay window beside Scorpius was fogging up quickly enough that he’d had to redo his Impervius charm three times since he came up here. It was wearing off again, and he found himself idly tracing lines from Propertius onto the dewy glass.  
  
  
It was strangely comforting to know that men were still bitching about love two thousand years ago, though they probably didn’t count on a morose fourteen-year-old quoting them on a window in Scotland in the year 2020. He wiped off the words with his sleeve, deciding that anyone in Ravenclaw would be familiar enough with etymology to see the word ‘Amor’ and immediately realise he was moping about romance, and stared at the page in front of him.  
  
  
At this point he couldn’t really tell if reading Latin love elegy was making him feel better or worse, but the concentration required to decipher each line and look up each obscure mythological reference was at least distracting him from the reason he was up here not-really-hiding in the first place.  
  
  
It wasn’t even that Albus Potter had broken his heart, because that would at least be easier to deal with. There was a treasure trove of ways to get over a broken heart, well documented in two thousand years of poetry and prose, and countless times he had thought maybe it would be better to just ask Albus, but the question had died on his lips before he could speak it.  
  
  
It was better to cling to a _maybe_ , he decided, than to hear a _no_.  
  
  
It had been ten months, fourteen days and eighteen hours since Albus had kissed him after that stupid truth or dare game, standing in the bathroom that Scorpius estimated was directly above where he was sitting now. He had kissed him, hesitant and awkward and perfect, and stepped away, pink blossoming on his cheeks as he switched his gaze quickly to the floor. “Night, Scorp,” he had murmured, and disappeared back into their dorm.  
  
  
Albus hadn’t said a word since, and Scorpius would have thought he’d dreamed everything if he was even remotely capable of remembering his dreams after he woke up, let alone ten months, fourteen days and eighteen hours later. They had gone back to being mates – _best mates_ , the label Albus had given them at the beginning of second year, and he spent most of the summer at the Potters’ with Rose, exploring Godric’s Hollow and experimenting with potions and spells pinched from books in the Weasleys’ extensive library, playing pranks on Albus’s little sister Lily and Rose’s brother Hugo – and trying not to let his breath catch in his throat every time Albus looked at him or brushed a little too close.  
  
  
He had hoped, like the romantic he was, that a myriad of special occasions would bring a declaration of love from Albus – their first trip into Hogsmeade, or Scorpius’s fourteenth birthday, or during Christmas when Scorpius hoped, without saying anything, that the mistletoe strung throughout the castle would happen to trap them on the way to class, or the first seconds of the New Year when all the older kids at the Ravenclaw common room were sharing kisses with their significant others, and Scorpius couldn’t work out if Albus had been looking at him or if it was just wishful thinking.  
  
  
Now, at four fifty-seven on Valentines Day, Scorpius had given up. The Valentines had been delivered that morning in the Great Hall and Scorpius had received five of them, all from girls who signed their names with loops and lovehearts. One of them was from Sophie Macmillan, who sat next to him in History of Magic thanks to Binns’ alphabetical seating plan, and he had claimed a headache and skipped last period.  
  
  
 _Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis,  
contactum nullis ante cupidinibus._  
  
  
He glanced back down at the page, at the scribbled translation he had worked out a few hours previously ( _Cynthia was the first to capture miserable me with her eyes, never before touched by passion_ ) and regretted that he couldn’t slip Albus’s name in place of Cynthia’s without screwing up the metre.  
  
  
Ironically, he thought, his own name fitted into the metre perfectly. He briefly entertained the sweet thought of Albus addressing the poem to him, decided that was too pathetic even for his innermost thoughts, and cast the book aside.  
  
  
Besides, the last ten months (fourteen days, and now nineteen hours) had proven to him that Albus didn’t think of him as anything more than a friend, kiss aside. Maybe Albus was the kind of guy to go round kissing people and thinking nothing of it; maybe he had kissed a dozen people since Scorpius who were infinitely better than he was at reading nothing into it. Maybe it was just a mistake, plain and simple, and it was only wishful thinking that made Scorpius think there was anything between them.  
  
  
Theirs was a weird friendship, but Albus was a weird bloke. He was temperamental and moody and passionate, could go from sentimental and earnest to standoffish and cold in a matter of seconds, and maybe their kiss was just a result of one of those overly passionate, overly sentimental moods.  
  
  
“Seen Scorpius?”  
  
  
It was Albus’s voice this time, and Scorpius gritted his teeth at the way his heart had sped up at the mere thought of Albus asking after him. He picked up his book again, opening it to a random page, and stared with unseeing eyes at the lines.  
  
  
“Haven’t seen him since Potions,” Rose’s voice came in reply. “He said he had a headache before History of Magic, but he didn’t go to the hospital wing. He’s not in your dorm?”  
  
  
“I just checked.” Scorpius could hear him fidgeting. “Sure he hasn’t been up here?”  
  
  
“Yeah – unless he’s reading Latin in the alcove again.”  
  
  
 _Damn you, Rose._  
  
  
He made a show of looking startled when Albus appeared in the doorway. “Oh, hi.”  
  
  
Albus sat down beside him. “Rose said you had a headache and that’s why you weren’t in History of Magic.”  
  
  
“Nah,” Scorpius said honestly. “Sophie gave me a Valentine this morning and I didn’t want to sit next to her this afternoon because it’d be weird.”  
  
  
“Did you get many Valentines?”  
  
  
“A fair few. You?”  
  
  
“Couple,” Albus said noncommittally. “Give any out?”  
  
  
“Nah. Did you?”  
  
  
“Nah. You don’t like anyone, then?”  
  
  
“What’s it to you?”  
  
  
“Yes or no,” Albus said impatiently.  
  
  
“Do _you_ like anyone?”  
  
  
“I asked first.”  
  
  
“Then yeah. Do you?”  
  
  
“Yeah. How come you didn’t send out any, if you like someone?”  
  
  
Scorpius fidgeted with the corner of the page. “Because the person I like kissed me ten months ago and hasn’t said anything since, and I figured it was probably a mistake and he didn’t mean to do it so he probably doesn’t feel the same way. Why didn’t you send one out?”  
  
  
“Because the person I like is a shy pureblood with privacy issues and I didn’t think he’d be comfortable getting a Valentine from another guy in the Great Hall with everyone trying to peer over people’s shoulders.”  
  
  
Scorpius bit his lip. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”  
  
  
“Because it’s Valentines Day and you’re sentimental.” Albus shrugged. “Plus, I want to be your boyfriend and I want to be your boyfriend for a long time, and I know I’ll never forget our anniversary if we get together on Valentines Day.”  
  
  
Scorpius stared at him. He was speaking slightly too quickly, as if he would lose his nerve if he slowed down, his green eyes flickering from Scorpius’s and down to the floor and back to Scorpius’s, and when he fell silent Scorpius leaned over and kissed him like he’d wanted to for ten months, fourteen days and nineteen hours.  
  
  
It was better – so much better than their first and infinitely sweeter, like a beginning and a promise rather than an impulse, and Albus threaded his fingers through Scorpius’s hair and left them tangled there.  
  
  
“There’s a Hogsmeade weekend coming up,” Scorpius said, even though he knew Albus knew – they were third years, after all, and had marked the Hogsmeade weekends on their calendars the moment they found out the dates all year – “Come with me.”  
  
  
“Is this a date?”  
  
  
“Yes.”  
  
  
Albus’s smile lit up his face until he was suddenly the most beautiful sight Scorpius had ever seen. “Then yeah, I’d love to.”  
  
  
With that sorted, Scorpius turned his attention back to kissing his boyfriend – his _boyfriend_ , Albus Potter was his _boyfriend_ – ignoring the darkness that grew around them as night fell.  
  
  
“Hey, Albus, are you still in – oh,” Rose stopped dead in the doorway, and Albus and Scorpius leapt apart.  
  
  
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t realise I was interrupting – um, it’s nearly dinnertime if you guys are coming…”  
  
  
“Right, yeah,” Albus said hurriedly, scrambling to his feet. “Yeah. Dinner. Of course.”  
  
  
“I can come back later,” Rose offered.  
  
  
“No, it’s fine,” Scorpius added, feeling his face burning. “Um, Rose, could you maybe – ”  
  
  
“Keep this quiet?” Albus finished. “Just until we’re ready to, you know. Tell people.”  
  
  
“Yeah, no problem.” Rose looked slightly awkward. “You know it’s not something you should have to hide, right, I mean, if you want to that’s fine, but you should be able to feel proud of who you are and – ”  
  
  
“Yeah.” Albus rubbed the back of his neck.  
  
  
“Yeah,” Rose echoed. “I mean, I support you – of course I do, I’m not really straight either – ”  
  
  
“Wait, you’re not?” Scorpius asked.  
  
  
“This isn’t about me,” Rose said dismissively. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret.”  
  
  
“Thanks, Rosie,” Albus said, and the pounding in Scorpius’s heart seemed to settle.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
Scorpius didn’t know why he was nervous. It was his first date with Albus, yes, but it was just to Hogsmeade where they’d gone twice before already, and he didn’t even get to do the typical pre-date worrying about his hair (gelled, so it didn’t flop everywhere) or acne (the gods had mercifully decided to give him a break) or clothes in peace, because Albus was in his dorm, stealing his mirror.  
  
  
“It’s my mirror too,” Albus said, nudging him aside. “And I have a _date_ today.”  
  
  
“I had a date first.”  
  
  
“You did not. It was _simultaneous_. We’ve both had dates for exactly the same amount of time – ”  
  
  
“You both have dates?”  
  
  
Lester Raine walked into the dorm, looking more confused than Scorpius had ever seen him (which was an accomplishment, because Lester seemed to be permanently confused) and waved them both aside to comb his hair. “What happened to shopping for Rose’s birthday present?”  
  
  
“Ah,” Scorpius said awkwardly. For the last two Hogsmeade visits the third year Ravenclaws had gone down to the Three Broomsticks together – there were only eight of them, and they all got along well – but Scorpius had told Lester and Holly Holyoake that he and Albus were shopping for Rose’s birthday present this weekend, and asked them to keep her distracted while they perused Tomes and Scrolls and Honeydukes. It wasn’t an outright lie – Rose’s birthday was coming up, and they definitely planned to find her _something_ during the course of the afternoon, but it wasn’t their primary focus.  
  
  
Lester still seemed to be awaiting an explanation.  
  
  
“Can you keep a secret?” Albus asked.  
  
  
“Um,” Lester said.  
  
  
Scorpius quickly weighed his options. He and Lester were mates – ever since he had that panic attack outside Charms at the beginning of the year and Scorpius had been first out of his seat to help, because he got them too and knew how shit they were – and he didn’t reckon Lester was the gossiping type.  
  
  
“We’re going on a date,” Scorpius said eventually. “Me and him.”  
  
  
“With each other,” Albus added.  
  
  
“Oh,” Lester said. “You’re…not telling anyone about that then?”  
  
  
“Rose knows,” Albus said. “But no one else.”  
  
  
“Holly will probably know,” Scorpius said. “Because Rose does.”  
  
  
“Rose and Holly know,” Albus concluded. “And you. Obviously.”  
  
  
“See it stays that way,” Scorpius added, and realised too late that he probably sounded a bit threatening. He stepped back, bumping into Albus, and let the silence reign.  
  
  
“Scorpius,” Albus said eventually, “You’re standing on my foot.”  
  
  
“Enjoy your date,” Lester offered, and fled.  
  


* * *

  
  
   
  
They ended up at the Hog’s Head.  
  
  
“Romantic,” Scorpius said, surveying the dingy interior, and Albus huffed.  
  
  
“Dad said it’s better than it used to be.”  
  
  
“A ringing endorsement.”  
  
  
“Would you rather go to Puddifoot’s?” Albus asked, and Scorpius halfheartedly kicked his shins.  
  
  
“Rude.”  
  
  
The bartender turned to glare at them, and Scorpius reluctantly approached the bar. “Two Butterbeers, please.”  
  
  
“Seven Sickles.”  
  
  
After handing over the money, Scorpius took a moment to glance around the pub now his eyes had adjusted to the light. He saw…couples?  
  
  
Boys holding hands across tables or chatting animately about Quidditch with their arms around each others’ waists, girls cuddled together on the same side of booths too big for them or sitting in groups with their hands casually resting on each other’s knee.  
  
  
“You were saying?” Albus said pointedly, passing him a Butterbeer.  
  
  
“Shut up.”  
  
  
“Love you too,” Albus returned, and Scorpius stared at him.  
  
  
“I do,” he said quietly. “I _really_ do.”  
  
  
“You boys gonna sit down?” the bartender interrupted.  
  
  
“Do you mind?” Albus snapped. “We’re having a _moment_.”  
  
  
Scorpius hastily pulled him into the nearest booth. “Shh.”  
  
  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Albus muttered, and in one swift motion grabbed Scorpius’s collar, pulled him forward, and kissed him with an intensity that made Scorpius’s head spin. “I love you too,” he repeated, settling back with his head on Scorpius’s chest like it was the most natural thing in the world, and maybe it was.  
  
  
They stayed for hours, long after they had finished their Butterbeer, though the contented silence had lasted barely two minutes – nestled into the corner, with Albus’s messy hair tickling Scorpius’s nose and his heart beating steadily under Scorpius’s crossed arms, they bickered.  
  
  
“I’m just saying,” Scorpius said, “You were perfectly willing to take us to a bar that kept _goats_ inside in your dad’s day.”  
  
  
“I knew the goats were gone,” Albus said defensively. “Aberforth Dumbledore died like, fifteen years ago.”  
  
  
“There was still a precedent – ”  
  
  
“Fuck off with your precedents,” Albus said, poking Scorpius’s forearm. “Has anyone told you recently that you’re the most pretentious – ”  
  
  
“You did, this morning,” Scorpius replied lazily. “You wouldn’t have me any other way.”  
  
  
“I dunno,” Albus mused, taking Scorpius’s hands and letting them rest in his own, “If a genie gave me three wishes – ”  
  
  
“Don’t even finish that statement.”  
  
  
“ – I would ask for money and Outstandings on my NEWTs and maybe a dog, because you’re perfect the way you are,” Albus concluded hastily.  
  
  
“How did that _work?_ I wasn’t even threatening you.”  
  
  
“Seriously?” Albus lowered his voice, adding a touch of a menacing growl. “ _Don’t even finish that statement_.”  
  
  
“I do _not_ sound like that.”  
  
  
“You kinda do. It’s kinda hot.”  
  
  
“Oh,” Scorpius said, feeling the heat rising in his cheeks, “In that case – ”  
  
  
“Zip it, we’re in public.” Albus swatted at Scorpius’s face.  
  
  
“Ow, that was my nose – ”  
  
  
“Suck it up.”  
  
  
“My loving boyfriend,” Scorpius said huffily.  
  
  
Albus glanced at the clock above the bar. “It’s nearly four, we should probably go – ”  
  
  
“Buy Rose’s present,” Scorpius ageed. “Yeah.”  
  
  
“Fuck Rose.”  
  
  
“I’d rather not,” Scorpius deadpanned, and Albus wrinkled his nose.  
  
  
“On that note,” he said, reluctantly extracting himself from Scorpius’s embrace, “I had an idea for something to buy her – she’s been really into Potions this year, have you noticed?”  
  
  
“It would be difficult not to.”  
  
  
“Yeah,” Albus said. “And there’s that encyclopaedia of ingredients that’s in Tomes and Scrolls at the moment – how much gold do you have with you? I think it’s ten Galleons.”  
  
  
“Enough to go halves,” Scorpius offered. “And that’s a much better idea than the five Galleons’ worth of shit I was going to buy her.”  
  
  
“What can I say?” Albus asked, grinning. “We’re better together than we are apart.”  
  
  
“I can see you saying that when we open a joint Gringott’s account.”  
  
  
“ _When_ ,” Albus repeated. “And, excuse you, we’re both going to be Healers on the same pay rate, so you can take that sarcastic tone and shove it – ”  
  
  
Scorpius kissed him before he could finish his sentence, pulling him behind the crumbling wall surrounding the pub until Albus’s flailing arms found anchor around his waist and he stopped trying to argue his point.  
  
  
“Hmm,” Scorpius said thoughtfully. ”Good to know.”  
  
  
“If you say _precedent_ – ”  
  
  
“I wasn’t going to mention it, but – ”  
  
  
This time, Albus kissed him. “Oi,” Scorpius protested. “I was saying – ”  
  
  
“Not anymore.”  
  
  
“Fuck you,” Albus murmured into his neck.  
  
  
“Not till you’re older.”  
  
  
“Is that a promise?”  
  
  
Scorpius placed a hand on his chest. “On my honour as a Malfoy.”  
  
  
The sound of a gaggle of students leaving Tomes and Scrolls reminded him of their mission. “Right. Rose.”  
  
  
“Rose,” Albus echoed, and they ducked back out into High Street, cheeks flushed pink, walking close enough that their hands could brush as if by accident, and despite the freezing air, Scorpius had never felt warmer.

**Author's Note:**

> Cynthia prima suis miserum me cepit ocellis, contactum nullis ante cupidinibus is from Propertius' Elegies, 1.1-2.


End file.
